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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194796">Pull, Take, Break</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky'>butterflyslinky</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DCU</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Blood, Broken Bones, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Electrocution, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Past Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:08:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,862</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflyslinky/pseuds/butterflyslinky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Joker doesn't like it when Batman plays with other toys.</p><p>So he's going to break one.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Harleen Quinzel, Joker (DCU)/Clark Kent, Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Superbat Reverse Bang 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pull, Take, Break</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Fic for <a href="https://imgur.com/aZoYQn8">this art</a> by Jule. Art is very NSFW.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There’s a pounding in Clark’s head when he comes to, not unusual after a kidnapping from what he’s told, but definitely strange for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next thing he notices are hands on his back, rubbing at his skin, rough and deep. The fingers are long, cold against his fevered skin. And that’s what tells Clark that he’s burning up, feeling dizzy and nauseous, his breathing ragged to his own ears. A moment later, he realizes he’s naked, nothing between him and the hands pressing into his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He coughs, choking, something in the air filling his already labored lungs. The hands on his back pause, and then there’s laughter in his ears, loud, high-pitched, muddled in his aching head, but still the stuff of nightmares to anyone who’s spent any time in Gotham.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hands start moving again and Clark realizes his back burns wherever they touch. “Welcome back.” The voice is high, cold, insane. Clark starts to struggle, but it’s no use. He’s tied down, facedown on a bed, hands chained, and he’s weak, so weak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t do that.” The voice is right next to his ear. “We’ve barely gotten started...and it’s not nice to leave a party so soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there’s weight over him, not much, but it’s still so cold, why is he shivering, he’s burning…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s amazing what you can buy with a bit of crazy, isn’t it?” There’s another laugh. “All you need is one good shakedown and then Lex Luthor’s willing to give you the good shit...your back is so many colors right now. Like it better that way...pity you’ll absorb it all so fast.” Nails dig into his back, piercing. Clark gasps, unsure of what’s happening, but it hurts, more than fingernails should.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a second, the hands and weight are gone. Clark breathes in relief for a moment before something slams into his spine, hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t help it. He screams, feeling something crack and break and his legs are suddenly numb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s better. Can’t have you running off, can we?” That laugh again, shrieking in Clark’s ears. “Barbara Gordon liked it better this way, too...you know her, Superman? Once her legs were out, she was docile as a kitten. But I guess a gun’s a little too loud...this works just as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark whimpers. He remembers Batgirl, what happened to her, how she had been shot and stripped and humiliated. Maybe more, he’s never dared to ask her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has a feeling he knows now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hands are back, and then the weight, and there’s pressure, he can feel it, though the spinal injury makes it hurt slightly less. After all, it’s hard to feel the pain of the breach over the pain of the break.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s dimly aware of movement behind him, and something wet falling on his numb, useless legs, but all he can really do is lie there, twisting his wrists, trying to pull out of the restraints and failing. The nails dig in again, piercing his sides, and Clark wonders if they’ll draw blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought it was just a rumor.” He’s talking again. Clark wishes he would stop talking. “But you really do bleed green, don’t you?” That laugh again, so grating and Clark can’t help but cry. One hand is on his back again, smearing liquid across it. Clark shudders, realizing he’s being painted with his own blood. “I have to say, I like red better.” The movement is getting faster. “It stains nicer...looks better on a victim’s skin. But this is pretty...nice change of pace. And it matches the kryptonite so well. Well...the green stuff, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark whimpers again. He wonders just how much poison was rubbed into his skin, how much of it there is in the air around him. He wonders if the monster on top of him will be hurt from it. If he even can be hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how long it takes before there’s a shudder and dull but spreading warmth below. Clark only cries, unable to even put in a token struggle anymore. At least it’s over…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The long fingers are probing at his mouth now, forcing their way inside. Clark bites down, which only gets another laugh. “Still fighting, hm?” He doesn’t pull back, just forces the fingers deeper, and Clark realizes that he’s tasting cum and blood on them, being forced into his throat. “Don’t worry, my dear blue boy...we’re nowhere near done. By the time I’m finished with you, Batman won’t know you anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark shudders. He doesn’t want to think about Batman right now. He knows Batman will find him, knows Batman will save him…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that means Batman will see everything that happens to him. No matter how quickly he gets here, it’s already happened. He’s already here, weak, powerless, violated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say good night, Superman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark barely has time to think before he’s hit on the head and blacks out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Clark wakes up again, he’s no longer on the bed. He’s kneeling on the floor, mostly by the force of the chain binding his wrists to the ceiling. His legs still don’t want to move, the pain in his spine more intense than ever. He still can’t breathe right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he awake, Harley?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eyes’re moving!” She sounds way too happy about it. Clark groans. “Oh, please, can I have a ride?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I’m done with him.” There are footsteps behind him, then pressure on his upper back, the press of a knee. “I want him thoroughly broken for Batsy to find.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark looks up enough to see Harley pouting. “You only ever share the broken toys,” she complains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then it’s a good thing this one isn’t my toy!” The pressure increases, straining Clark’s already aching shoulders. “That’s what happens when the Bat decides something else is more fun,” he continues. “He forgets all his old playmates in favor of the shiny new ones. And then he’s too busy saving the universe to ever worry about us anymore.” The pressure is higher, pressing down and down until…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark screams as both shoulders are dislocated. The knee moves off, leaving him hanging, arms burning in pain, his limbs all completely useless. Clark breathes heavily, trying to center himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A kick to the face forces him to look up again, finally seeing his tormentor. The Joker is grinning, white face almost blinding. Clark feels his nose bleeding, his vision blurring. Probably another break.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a shame,” the Joker observes. “Your face is pretty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too bad you gotta ruin it!” Harley complained, bouncing into view. “Can I play with him now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, all right,” the Joker says. “But don’t destroy him yet...I want a few pieces left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, Puddin’.” Harley leans up and kisses his cheek before bouncing over to Clark. Her foot pushes on his chest, heel digging into his sternum. Clark screams again as she pushes him back, his already dislocated arms aching as the muscles begin to tear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You give him the good stuff?” she asks over her shoulder as she pushes her miniskirt up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I gave him everything,” the Joker answers. “He might need some encouragement, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I can do that.” She kneels in front of him, her smile nearly as insane as her partner’s, and reaches down between Clark’s legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gasps, the motion burning his nose and lungs, as she starts forcing his cock to get hard. It feels strange, especially since his legs are still numb, but apparently the Joker knows what he’s doing enough to ensure Clark’s cock still works even if nothing else does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always thought you were cute,” Harley says. “But that’s the point, ain’t it? Superman’s always perfect in every way.” She glances down. “And this is pretty super if you ask me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark closes his eyes, just willing this to be over. He’s painfully hard by the time she takes her hand off. There’s barely a pause before she’s forcing herself on him, taking his length inside. “Oh, fuck!” she cries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How does he feel, baby?” the Joker asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not as good as you,” she says. “But that pink stuff really works wonders, huh?” She starts moving up and down on him, and all Clark can do is close his eyes and try to ignore the pain. It’s hard to do, though, his body torn between the pain and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark has had sex with women. He recalls a drunken night with Diana, his fling with Lois. Times that were magical, thrilling. Times he had enjoyed immensely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it isn’t that Clark doesn’t enjoy sex with men as well. The Justice League always has a willing partner. And more recently…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More recently, Bruce has been a constant presence. Clark wouldn’t say they’re dating, exactly. They’re not even fucking yet, though Clark thinks it’s headed in that direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or was. But right now, with Harley grinding down on him, Clark can’t imagine ever wanting to have sex again. Harley may be good at it, but Clark can’t tell through the haze of pain. He can’t help but wonder if it will always hurt like this. If he even survives, that is. He knows that the Joker is a killer at heart, and if he thinks that Batman is paying more attention to his fellow heroes than his enemies…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley slaps him, hard. Clark opens his eyes, giving her a begging look. “Pay attention,” Harley snaps. “When a girl’s riding your dick, you give her your attention.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark’s vision is blurring with tears. Harley is small, but having her on his hips is putting pressure on the break in his spine. Her hands wrap around his neck, squeezing and pushing him back, pulling more at his ruined shoulders and making it even harder to breathe around the kryptonite swirling around the room. Her nails dig in, so deep Clark worries she’ll draw blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now hold still!” There are several clicks. A camera. Clark tries to turn away, but Harley gets a grip in his hair and forces him to face it. The Joker grins, making sure to get every angle. “Oh, Batman’s gonna love this,” he says. “Maybe I should film.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Later,” Harley says. “I need to redo my makeup for that.” Her grip on Clark’s neck tightens and she’s definitely drawing blood. “You gonna make me cum, Superman?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark chokes out a sob. He can’t be part of this. He just has to tune out, pretend it’s happening to someone else…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come, come!” the Joker calls. “Harley’s giving you the best fucking of your life...least you can do is let her enjoy it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark glares. He can’t move, they know that, they’ve made sure of it. They’re just mocking him now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess a girl’s gotta take care of herself.” She removes one hand from his throat. Clark can’t even follow its movement down between her legs. His vision is spotting, his lungs burning. He’s barely aware of the camera going off again, hardly conscious when Harley tightens around him as she cums.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you at least cum for me?” she purrs. “Gotta know I’m treating you right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t, the pain is too intense, even with her grinding and clenching down on him. He cries, unable to do anything else. Harley keeps going anyway, determined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will cum,” the Joker says. “She’s not going to move until you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark can’t even scream. He can just wait, hoping that his body will react in spite of the pain. It’s a miracle she even got him hard, honestly. Getting him to cum…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hands tighten on his neck again. His vision is swimming, he can’t breathe, he can’t move, he can’t think…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The orgasm slams over him, not pleasurable at all, just another jolt of pain. He falls back, his shoulders pulling as he falls, slumped and broken. He’s barely aware of Harley getting off of him and the clicking of the camera again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back on the bed now.” The chains unlock and Clark falls, and doesn’t know any more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark wakes with his body aching, head pounding. The room is dark, so dark he can barely see, but he can just make out a small figure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows. “Harley?” he manages to whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look who’s awake,” she says, bounding over. “And looking pretty, too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Clark gasps. He knows what Bruce has said about Harley Quinn. “You don’t want to do this...help me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, does Superman need someone to save him?” Harley pets his face a moment before she slaps him. “Too bad...you belong to us now. Mistah J stole you good and fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>New tact. “He’s not going to pay as much attention to you,” Clark says. “Not when he can break Batman’s toys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Harley says. “You got a point there, Boy Scout. But I like breaking toys too. And once you’re good and broken, he’s gonna give you back to Batman. Just a temporary setback.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t it bother you?” Clark asks. “That he cares more about Batman?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley pauses, gazing at him with narrowed eyes. “You’re tryin’ to wind me up,” she says. “Tryin’ to talk your way outta this. But I ain’t stupid, Blue Boy. I ain’t gonna go against my puddin’s orders.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can both get out,” Clark whispers. “Just help me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glares a moment before she picks up her bat. Clark closes his eyes just as it comes down on his ribs, cutting off his already labored breathing. She doesn’t stop with one, beating him over and over. Clark coughs, convulsing as he feels cracks in his ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want out,” she snaps. “I don’t wanna be saved. But you’re gonna need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark whimpers, knowing that rescue would have to come from outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce frowns at the screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Superman has been missing for three days. Clark Kent has been reported missing for two. There’s been no sign of either, no trace of where he’s gone. Bruce doesn’t even know where to begin looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the worst thing is, Bruce can’t decide if it’s what he should be worried about. Gotham is always in chaos, the Justice League always needs something, and he still has a teenager at home. Can he really take time out of his schedule to look for someone he knows can take care of himself?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something eating you?” Robin glances over from his computer station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sort of,” Bruce admits. “Superman is MIA. It’s hard to know if he’s in trouble or not, he’s always all over the world, but no sightings in three days is strange. And Clark Kent is missing too, which indicates something big.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin frowns and turns back to his computer. Bruce can’t help but smile slightly. He had his doubts about this one, but Robin...Tim...is smart as a whip, quick with his computer, and a master at finding information that others can’t hope to get. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If anyone can find out what happened to Superman, it’s Robin. That’s enough for Bruce to go back to his own work, looking through his case files, a headache building behind his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Bat-Computer pings two hours later. Bruce groans and glances at the email. Unknown address, photo attachments. Textbook hacking attempt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robin, scan this,” he calls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin nods and connects, running software that he wrote himself before pulling the attachment…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he immediately slams the laptop shut, face white, looking like he’s about to throw up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tim?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No viruses,” Robin reports, voice tight. “It’s…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce turns back and opens the attachment. He goes as pale as Tim immediately, barely able to comprehend what he’s seeing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robin, you’re off-duty for tonight,” he says, voice sharp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you need me to help trace it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Bruce says. “I will handle this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bruce…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tim.” Bruce keeps his voice firm. “You are not getting involved in this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said no. You’re not ready for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to be ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Bruce grips the desk, his knuckles white. “It’s bad enough this is happening. You don’t need to look at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s in trouble, and we help people in trouble!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tim!” Bruce’s voice is sharp. “This is the work of someone who can hurt Superman. Who will not hesitate to hurt you. I’m not going to lose more people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robin looks like he’s going to argue more, but then nods. “You love him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce can’t help it. He goes and hugs Robin close. “I do,” he admits. “And I love you. So please...let me do this. I have plenty of other case files for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Robin hugs Bruce for another moment. “Send them over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce nods and turns back to his computer, sending his caseload to Robin before getting to work on the photos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark wakes to freezing water splashing over him. He gasps, body jerking. He hurts, in more places than before, his chest and cock both in horrific pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks down, afraid of what he’ll see, and sure enough, there are clamps over his nipples and cock, pinching hard. They’re attached to wires, running to a panel, and he knows this can’t be good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And there he is!” The Joker sounds more demented than ever. “Awake in time for us to test our new toys!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley bounces over to the panel, full of dials and switches. Clark just breathes, trying not to start crying again. There’s a video camera next to her on a tripod, red light steady to show it’s recording.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lowest setting,” the Joker orders. “And keep it on until he stops screaming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grins and pulls a switch. Clark screams as electricity runs through his most sensitive places, making his body jolt. He can’t stop, can’t quiet his voice for a moment until he’s gone hoarse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fifteen minutes,” the Joker says. “Impressive...next setting!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His throat burns, but he can’t stop screaming as the electricity is turned up, shooting through him, his entire broken body jolting. He can’t fight it, can’t do anything…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark thinks he must pass out several times. He’s burning, he still can’t breathe. His voice is wrecked after the third setting, and there are six more after that. By the time it ends, he can barely feel where the clamps are attached, with so much pain in his body that he can’t comprehend anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it does end, and Harley takes the clamps off. He whimpers, the pain intensifying again as blood starts returning to his chest and cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we broke the good part,” Harley complains, grabbing between Clark’s legs. He makes a harsh gasp, the pain intensifying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For you,” the Joker says. “But not for me. Move over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harley steps aside and the Joker grabs Clark’s hips. Clark barely has time to register it before the Joker is slamming into him, hips moving fast and harsh. Clark is crying, tears running down his face so fast he barely realizes they’re there until he notices how wet his face is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they’re both laughing, so loud and high-pitched, grating and pounding in his head. And there’s blood, he knows there’s more blood, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He can’t do anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the matter, Superman?” Harley taunts. “Can’t handle a real man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark doesn’t respond. He isn’t Superman now. He can’t be Superman, not broken like this, not with this psychopath able to break him so thoroughly. How much kryptonite has he inhaled to keep him this weak, anyway? How is he still alive to endure this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can have your fun, too,” the Joker says. “His mouth is open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mind if I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark can’t protest as she climbs up, straddling his face. He can’t make a sound as she grinds down on his mouth, just using him for her own pleasure. His broken nose hurts as she bumps against it. She matches the Joker’s pace easily, both of them pounding into him, onto him. He can’t breathe again, Harley blocking his airways, the Joker knocking any breath he might have tried to take from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tug at his hair makes him open his eyes again. “You can do better than that!” Harley says. She grinds down harder, making Clark cough a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Joker pushes in deeper, grinding. “Come on, pretty boy...I’m sure Wonder Woman’s taught you how to do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark doesn’t respond. He can’t even move anymore, just lie there and take it from them. All of it hurt, all of it feels so horrible, and he can’t muster enough power to even try and fight it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re still jeering at him, degrading him, but Clark can’t make out individual words anymore. He’s fading in and out again, and that’s worrying, that he can’t even stay conscious. His breathing is too labored, on the rare occasion he can draw breath. He wonders if he’ll suffocate, or if he’ll just die of the pain and shock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because he’s going to die. Bruce won’t find him in time, and even if he does, what will he do? Throw the Joker back in jail, send Harley back to Arkham, and leave Clark in the Fortress, knowing how weak he is. How fake Superman is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There will be no Superman after this. Clark Kent may survive, but he can’t go back to being a hero now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s almost completely blacked out by the time they finish with him. He doesn’t hear their parting remarks, just lays still, broken, helpless, useless as he falls into the darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you don’t need me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Positive.” Bruce finishes gearing up. “I need you to stay here and monitor the rest of Gotham...if anything else happens while I’m busy, someone needs to respond.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim nods. “Okay...just...be careful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always am.” Bruce does not wait to hear the reply--no doubt a very smart-alec one--before he hops in the Batmobile and drives off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart is pounding in his chest, the images from the computer burned in his mind. He wonders if he’ll be too late, if Clark will be dead by the time he gets there. But even if that is true, if Superman is lost forever, Bruce has to be there, has to recover him. Has to make the Joker pay for this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This particular warehouse is far enough from everything as to be almost unnoticed. No one to hear screams, no one to notice anything odd going on. Bruce makes a mental note to fast-track his revitalization projects to make sure that Gotham’s resident crazies have less room to work out of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room is dark when Bruce enters, but as soon as he crosses a threshold (pressure point, set up to alert people he’s there, and oh, Bruce wants them to know he’s there), bright lights come on, flooding the room, especially the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce swallows heavily as he approaches. He wants to look away, but he can’t. He has to face this. Has to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark is stirring as Bruce approaches, broken whimpers falling from dry lips. He’s bleeding from several places, ugly bruises covering his skin, and...well. Bruce doesn’t want to think about anything else, even though he knows it happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue eyes open, blank and pained. Bruce stares at him a long moment, glad that his mask hides his expression. He doesn’t trust himself not to cry right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please…” The word is faint, barely a whisper, so quiet Bruce might be imagining it. But it’s enough to get him moving, examining the shackles. They should be easy for Clark to break through, but Bruce can see the kryptonite around the room, littering Clark’s skin in any color that’s easily available. Bruce can’t even imagine what it must feel like having his body so out of control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has a lockpick in hand in seconds, opening the chains easily. Clark seems to be barely aware of him, probably just conscious enough to recognize that Bruce isn’t hurting him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last chain falls away just as a familiar, horrible laugh cuts through the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce turns, anger coursing through every inch of his body. The Joker walks into the room, grinning widely. Clark whimpers, but doesn’t move, not even to curl away from his tormentor. Bruce can’t imagine how hurt he is that he can’t even flinch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, well, Batman,” the Joker says. “I’m surprised it took you so long to find us. I almost thought we’d have another Robin on our hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce growls, taking a fighting stance. “Don’t you dare talk about him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re always so defensive of your toys,” the Joker says. “Never want to share with your old friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They aren’t toys, Joker,” Bruce says. “They’re people. And I’m not letting you hurt them anymore!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t stop it, Batman,” the Joker says, his voice dropping in pitch and volume, and that’s when Bruce knows he should be afraid. “You’ll never be rid of me...and as long as you have toys to break, I will break them.” He cocks his head, as though thinking of something. “You got a new Robin, didn’t you? You have a talent for replacing broken things...I wonder how he’ll look when I’m done with him. Superman looks pretty like this, but Robin bleeds red. Of course...he’s so small...he wouldn’t be fun for very long. Maybe I can just recruit him...it might be fun having a baby bird to raise. Harley would like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce doesn’t see his own fist fly. He doesn’t feel the impact as he punches the Joker hard across the face. He doesn’t even know how many times he hits. All he hears is the roar of blood in his ears, all he can see is red, his rage boiling over and breaking. He must fall to his knees at some point, his fist coming down, again and again, harder than he usually hits. He can’t control it, can’t stop it, can’t help but keep hitting...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Batman.” The word is faint, raspy, but it’s enough to cut through the haze. “Batman, stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s probably the only thing that could get through to him now. But Bruce does stop and turn, looking at the broken form on the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Help me,” Clark whispers. “Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce growls and hits once more before he goes to the bed. Lifting Clark isn’t easy, never has been, but he can do it without jostling him too much. Clark whimpers, tears falling down his already soaked face, and Bruce shushes him gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers, though he knows it isn’t. Physically, Clark will heal--they just have to get out of here, away from the poison, back into the sunlight, and Clark’s body will be fine. But Bruce knows--they both know--that physical healing is the easy part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce glares at the Joker, who grins back at him, in spite of being on the floor, bleeding from the hits. “You think I’m done?” the Joker asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t try to follow me,” Bruce growls. “Or I will make you regret it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Joker laughs, but doesn’t rise. Bruce ignores him, carrying Clark out to the Batmobile and bundling him inside, passing him his cape to wrap up in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Batman?” Tim’s voice cuts into his comm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce hits the talk button. “Go ahead, Robin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got Harley a few blocks from you. She was set to keep a lookout...what do you want me to do with her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back to Arkham,” Bruce growls. “And then get the Joker...he’s down, but be careful. I can’t be around either of them right now. After that, search the warehouse. They probably have more photos or video. I want it all destroyed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Batman, is Superman…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s alive. I’m taking him back to the Cave. Don’t come back until I call you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep the streets safe. If the Joker tries to hurt you, run. Stay out of the Cave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce can hear the hesitation in Tim’s voice, but he finally gets what he needs. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce cuts off the comm and drives, faster than he should. Clark is eerily quiet, hardly moving. Bruce hardly dares glance back at him, the speeds he’s going at making it too risky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark is unconscious by the time they get to the Cave. Bruce pulls him out and drags him to a bed, getting him laid down before calling for Alfred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred is there in a moment, moving very quickly for a man of his age. “Master Bruce, water,” he calls. “We need to clean out these wounds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce rushes to obey, pulling the cowl off as he goes. A moment later, Alfred is cleaning the wounds, Bruce hovering nearby. “Will he…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Bruce, I assure you, I will give him as much care as I give you. Now please move aside and give me space to work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce wants to protest, but he knows better. He leaves the medical bay and heads back to his computer, opening case files at random, glancing at them, and then closing them, unable to focus. He does this several times before giving up and staring at the blank screen, knowing he should go to bed but unable to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before now, he and Clark...he isn’t sure. Clark wanted something, and he wants something too, more than anything. It’s been too long since Bruce has been able to fully connect with anyone the way he does with Clark. Clark is so open, so gentle, so...nice. He’s spent months coaxing Bruce out of his shell, like Bruce is just a lost baby bird who needs to be taken somewhere safe. And oh, Clark feels safe. He’s warm and big and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s over now. Bruce isn’t angry at Clark, could never be angry with him. But he knows this is his fault, that the Joker never would have targeted Superman if Batman didn’t so obviously like him. He knows the Joker always wants to hurt Batman, and will hurt anyone else in his quest to do so. He knows that Clark can’t possibly forgive him for this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce closes his eyes and the image from that warehouse is in his head again. Clark, so broken, humiliated, desperate...it hurts, more than it would if Bruce had been there in his place, almost as much as losing Jason hurts. Bruce supposes he should be grateful that Clark is alive, but in some ways, that might be worse. With Jason, it was terrible, painful, but it’s over. Jason had suffered, yes, but there was an end to it. Clark…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark will keep suffering, and there’s nothing Bruce can do to stop it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His reverie breaks ten minutes later when the comm beeps. He picks up at once. “Robin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got them both back to Arkham,” Tim says. “With orders that they both be locked up and watched at all times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything else in the warehouse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cameras, like you suspected. I took them all out and burned the tapes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. You can come home. Go straight upstairs to bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you don’t…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Straight to bed.” Bruce hangs up the comm and goes back to staring at nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been hours by the time Alfred comes back to him. “I have treated the wounds I can,” Alfred says. “He will need sleep, then to move into a room with sunlight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce nods. “Thank you, Alfred.” He stands, stepping back to the medbay carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark looks better, certainly, more peacefully asleep. Bruce stares at him for a long moment, before brushing the curl out of Clark’s eyes and turning to go. He stumbles upstairs to his room and falls on the bed, not even bothering to undress before he falls asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Laughter. Laughter all around, high, insane, grating.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He can’t see through the fire, but he knows, he knows he needs to get through it, needs to find him, needs to save him…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What’s the matter, Batman? Can’t find your little bird?” The Joker’s face appears out of the flames, white and grinning, and underneath him is a body, bruised and bloody and naked, violated… “He’s been such a good boy for me...played nicely. You should reward him.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The body is shoved toward him. Small, too small, too young. Bruce catches him, and can’t decide if it’s Dick or Jason or Clark or Tim in his arms, whimpering, bleeding…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You can’t save them. You’re weak, and you’re useless, and you can’t save what you love.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce jerks awake. He’s honestly surprised he isn’t screaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes several deep breaths before getting up and glancing at the clock. Nearly eight, the sun is up. He peels out of his costume, making a mental note to burn it and the sheets on his bed, and pulls on the most comfortable day clothes he can find.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t bother going downstairs, unsure if he’ll be able to stomach food. Instead he heads to the roof, hoping that fresh air will help clear his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his surprise, Clark is there, in a pair of borrowed sweatpants and no shirt. The cuts and bruises from the night before are mostly faded, and Clark is staring straight ahead, tears falling freely down his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce feels like an intruder, like he should turn around and leave, but he knows that Clark has already heard him come up. He hesitates, then steps up beside him. “Morning,” he mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark nods in acknowledgement, still staring straight ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A vague shrug that honestly tells Bruce more than words would have. He’s seen that shrug before, gave it to Dick and Alfred himself a few times. It means that nothing is okay, but that it shouldn’t be talked about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clark…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark shakes his head. Clearly, the trauma is too deep for him to speak yet. Bruce can understand that. He hadn’t spoken for nearly a year after his parents died, had only forced himself to speak for his own reputation after Jason. Bruce wants to hug Clark, to hold him close and tell him it will be okay. He wants to go to Arkham and beat the Joker to a pulp for taking yet another thing away from him. He wants to scream and hit things and wreck the manor until he can’t scream anymore, but he can’t do any of that. All he can do is stand here, waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Bruce finally says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That gets Clark to look at him, at least, though he looks confused. Like he isn’t sure what Bruce is apologizing for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I never should have let us get that close. Never should have let you be a target...I should have protected you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now Clark looks angry. He glares at Bruce a long moment before he finally speaks. “Fuck that,” he says, and it’s so strange, hearing Superman swear. “I am...I was Superman. I should have been able to protect myself.” He turns away. “I wanted you. I could have loved you. And I knew loving you would have consequences. If you don’t want me around, fine...I wouldn’t either. But don’t act like you’re the victim here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce looks down. “I’m sorry,” he says again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re silent for a long moment before Bruce speaks again. “What do you need?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Clark says. “I...it’s going to take time. I need to...process this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I think I need to be alone for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce nods. “Will you go back to the Fortress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes...it’s summer, there will be enough sun for me to finish healing. After that...after that, I’ll see how I feel.” He turns back to Bruce. “I...I can’t be Superman anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce blinks. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What they did to me...that shows...I’m too weak. I can’t...I can’t be a hero if they can…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck that,” Bruce says back. “Clark...you survived for days with them doing that to you. You kept fighting...even when they...you’re strong. So much stronger than anyone I know. Not because of your powers, because of your heart. Just because you got hurt…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t get hurt,” Clark snaps. “I shouldn’t be able to be hurt...if I can be hurt…” He looks scared, so scared, like one of Bruce’s Robins, like a child. “What happens if I get hurt in the open?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re human. No one expects you to be perfect. No one expects you to be invincible.” Clark takes a deep breath. “It’s different for me...if I’m ever not exactly what they want, the entire image of Superman crumbles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not sustainable and you know it.” Bruce runs a hand through his hair in agitation. “If people see you get hurt, all it does is let them know that you are human...more human than the rest of us, I might add. You can’t keep making them believe you’re some paragon...that’s hurting you, more than it’s helping them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark stares off in the distance for a while before slowly nodding. “Just...give me time,” he says. “When I’m ready...when I feel...I’ll come back. And...and we’ll talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce nods. “Okay...do you need anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark stares at him for a long time before he shakes his head. “Not now,” he says. “Thank you...for being my hero.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce gives him a small, fake smile. Clark nods once before he pushes off and flies away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Fortress is cold, quiet, as it always is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark spends the first week lying in bed, feeling sorry for himself. No, not feeling sorry for himself. Well, maybe a little, but he’s not just moping. He still hurts in a lot of places, still feels too broken to try and do anything except send a message to the Daily Planet to say that he’s chasing an undercover story somewhere very far away. It’s a sign of how much sway a Pulitzer has that no one even questions that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second week, he feels well enough to get up and sit outside, the cold barely bothering him. The snow is nice, giving him a pretty view. There are penguins, and they wander over, more curious than afraid, and Clark is happy to pet them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It helps. A little bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not enough to block out the memories. Clark wakes every night with high-pitched laughter echoing in his brain. The Fortress is safe, unreachable, but he doesn’t feel safe. There’s no one here to protect him, no one to comfort him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that’s the point, isn’t it? That he’s Superman, that he doesn’t need to be protected. He doesn’t need someone else to take care of him, he can take care of himself just fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can’t. He knows he can’t. The Fortress is too big, too empty, too lonely, even with the AI Jor-El to talk to. But Clark can’t imagine trying to talk to him about this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks about giving this up a month in, going home. Back to Kansas, maybe. Let his mother take care of him, because that isn’t humiliating, that’s just natural. But he knows he would have to tell her at least some of what happened and he can’t imagine putting her through that. It’s bad enough that Bruce and Tim and Alfred know. He doesn’t want anyone else to find out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t face Bruce yet. He knows that Bruce won’t judge, won’t treat him like he’s broken. But at the same time…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never wanted Bruce to find out he’s weak. He never wanted to have to talk to him about it. Bruce has enough of his own trauma to work through; Clark can’t burden him with any more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he misses Bruce. He wants comfort, and he wants Bruce to be the one giving it to him. Because Bruce knows, and Bruce can’t understand but he can try. He can’t help, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark holds out for three months before he goes back to Gotham. But he doesn’t go to Bruce. Not yet. Not now. He has a long way to go before he faces Bruce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes to the clocktower. Barbara is there, alone, thankfully. Clark knocks on the window, though he suspects she saw him coming a mile away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turns her wheelchair and gives Clark a very small smile. He goes in and closes the window behind him. “You’re back, then?” she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not permanently yet,” Clark says. “I just...need someone to talk to.” He glances up at her. “You know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not all the details,” she says. “Batman just gave the basics.” Her eyes flick over him. “But I can guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark swallows. “I...I figured you’d understand. More than he does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara sighs. “I do,” she says. “He’s been through a lot, but...it’s not…” She gestures vaguely. “What men like that do to people like us...no one can understand until they’ve been through it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want anyone to go through it,” Clark says. “I don’t want anyone to understand this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Barbara says. “When I heard...all I could think was, please God, don’t let it be as bad as it was for me.” She bites her lip. “It was worse, wasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark swallows. “Can I ask…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t rape me,” Barbara says. “He threatened to...but he knew my father would kill him if he did. Not that it mattered, really...it didn’t make anything better. People say, oh at least he didn’t do that...they don’t get that what he didn’t do doesn’t matter. What he did do was enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark looks down. “He...he did do it to me,” he whispers. “Both him and Harley...they...they…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara opens her arms. Clark falls to his knees, pressing close to her. She hugs him close to her chest. “It’s okay,” she whispers back. “You don’t have to be strong for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Clark cries, harder than he’s cried since it was happening. After a minute, he realizes Barbara is shaking, crying as well, and he tries to hug her more, tries to make anything better for them both. He’s not sure he succeeds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a long time for them both to stop. Clark settles more comfortably on the floor, leaning his head on Barbara’s leg, just a reassuring weight. She pets his hair, almost absent-minded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to tell Bruce you’re here?” she asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Clark says. “I’m not...I’m not ready yet. I’ll probably go back to the Fortress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Being alone doesn’t help,” Barbara says. “I thought it would, too...but it really doesn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know where else to go,” Clark says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then stay here,” she says. “We can...maybe we can put ourselves back together a little bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark shrugs. “Sure,” he says. “If it’s okay with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Barbara hums a bit. “Well, I don’t charge rent...but I might want you to fly me to San Francisco sometime.” Her voice is teasing, but strained, obviously trying to lighten the mood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can do that,” Clark says. He closes his eyes, still leaning on her. “Thank you.” He’s quiet for a moment before he whispers, “How do you stand it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” she admits. “I guess...I just didn’t let it stop me. I can’t be Batgirl...that doesn’t mean I can’t still be a hero. He doesn’t get to define me...he doesn’t get to defeat me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark nods. “I wish I was as strong as you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are,” Barbara says. “I know you are...you, Clark. Not Superman. You won’t feel it for a while...but you’ll remember that someday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs. “And...Bruce…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barbara shrugs. “I guess...you let that come to you,” she says. “But...he’s a good guy. You know that...he’ll do what you need. Anything you need...he lives to help people. He lives to be a hero. Just like us...maybe even more than us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Clark says. “I guess...I don’t need a hero. I need a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s start there,” Barbara says. “And once you’re more...certain...then you go back to him. And you let him help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce sighs, staring across Gotham from his favorite gargoyle. It’s been six months since Clark left, and there’s been no word of Superman in all that time. It’s been exhausting, trying to keep Metropolis guarded with off-duty League members while giving the vaguest answers possible about his whereabouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t dared contact Clark, not even a phone call. He knows that he should, even if it’s just to make sure he’s still alive, but Bruce can’t bring himself to do it. He can’t force Clark to talk to him, not after everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gotham is quiet tonight, quiet enough that he’s left Tim back in the Cave to do research while he broods on a rooftop. Tim didn’t even question it, only asked if Bruce needs to talk. Which he doesn’t. At all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Batman hates talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After hours on the roof, though, Bruce has to admit defeat. The sun is just starting to rise as he stands to swing off…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can see something coming toward him from the south. So Bruce stays still, wondering...hoping…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Superman lands in front of him. He’s a bit shaky on his feet, his costume a bit loose on him, but he looks...mostly better. At least somewhat okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Superman,” Bruce says. “You’re back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark nods, a small smile playing around his mouth. “I said I would be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark shrugs, and it’s the same sort of shrug from before, though maybe a little less tense. “I’m...functional,” he says. “It’s going to take a while to be good, but…” He breathes a bit. “I’ve been back for a while, actually,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With Oracle...we’ve been...kind of helping each other with everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce nods. It makes sense. Barbara’s better suited to emotions than he is, anyway, and she knows better than anyone what Clark’s going through. “I’m glad you got someone to help,” Bruce says. “I’m sorry it couldn’t be me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re quiet a moment before Clark sighs. “I missed you,” he says. “Missed everyone, but...I kept thinking...I wanted you with me. She helped, but...I wanted you to help, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it,” Bruce says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need you to be,” Clark says. “I just...I need you there. That’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t your fault,” Clark says. “It wasn’t either of our faults. And even if...if it was...I want to be with you. No one else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce nods. “Okay.” He swallows. “Boundaries?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark looks down. “Let’s...take it slow,” he says. “I don’t want...I don’t want to have sex yet. I don’t know if I ever will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I might not be very...fun to be around for a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay. I’m not either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark half-smiles. “And...there are places that will never be okay to touch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stand there for several minutes before Bruce steps forward a bit. “Can I…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark nods and Bruce kisses him, gentle, open, not forcing, just guiding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clark kisses back and Bruce thinks that they might be okay.</span>
</p>
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